One night, a tremendous commotion in the driveway split the darkness. There was a chaotic scrabbling sound, then one of the cats screamed. The younger one, we thought from the voice.

As we made our way to the window to look out, a high-pitched, retching barking sounded in rhythmic bursts, like dog yelping.

The cat hissed and spit. We turned the outside lights on.

A fox was pacing back and forth in front of the garage. The cat was trapped in there, under the car. Her eyes glowed under the bumper.

The fox was not immediately fazed by the lights. The choking barks continued and the fox maneuvered near the garage doorway, trying to terrify the cat into dashing for the woods.

I stepped quietly to the other car parked by the front door and turned on the headlights. They flooded the driveway and front of the garage with their ghostly, artificial iridescence. The fox got confused and darted up the driveway, then down, then back again, not wanting to let the cat meal go.

The cat — presumably understanding what the sudden radiance meant and keeping its wits — continued to crouch under the car.

Finally, the fox ran for the trees, the cacophony ended and the evening quiet was put back together. An hour or two later, the cat scratched at the door as usual.

Echoing from the night woods is the terror of whatever’s out there. Sometimes, there’s crashing, stamping and heavy snorting near the back door, too close for comfort. Last summer and fall, coyotes howled from deep in the darkness almost every night. It’s sort of a high-pitched, ghostly baritone, with a definite beauty encased in lurking wildness.

What are they saying? When the cows at the dairy farm miles away bawl at night, you wonder if it’s a choir of the damned. By day, it’s like a kind of cute yodeling. Owls chant from dusk through dark.

Our daytime optimism tells us the first created thing was light: “Let there be light,” the God of Moses, Jesus and Muhammad says.

But before the light, there was the sound of the voice. The Sufis say all music is an echo of that first note that brought order to the chaos.

Out of the howling darkness comes bird song.

Dana Wilde lives in Troy. You can contact him at dwilde.naturalist@gmail.com. His book “Summer to Fall” is available from North Country Press. Backyard Naturalist appears the second and fourth Thursdays each month.

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